Five Short Poems by Alan Catlin

 

Hard winter rain in nightmare forest.

Unnatural light glows amid bent trees. Strange,

hanging curtains of feculent moss buffeted by

wind gusts, prehistoric reptile wings. Rain forced

buds burst from leaf storm mulch.

 

                        walking home,

                        forced

                        solitude ends

            Outside the disused church,

windblown trees scratch against stone.

Scraping the cracked stained glass where

the moon’s last light resides.

 

                        Dreaming of finches

                        a yellow feather

                        on a pew

Wind in pipe organ tubes. Bird’s

nests disturbed. Spider’s webs.  Occasional

off-key notes: ghost trios, songs without

words, keyboards without hands.

 

                        Interior with

                        dream light

                        dust bowl chalice

            The rain is filled with dreams where

the birds should be.  Chimney swifts and barn

swallows inhabit all the blank spaces behind

my eyes.  As morning clears away all the debris

the night has left behind, I feel my face and

wonder where all the features have gone.

 

                        Reflections in

                        a puddle-

                        my life recedes

Sandhill cranes against a blood red

sky are moving objects in a still life dream.

Black paint smears are tree sprouts, twigs of

life pushing through canvas tears.  New growth

is stretched as thin as wire string music is

made on.

 

                        Bird cries-dissonance with wings

 

           

Alan Catlin has been publishing fort he better part of six decades.  His most recent full length books include Memories Too (Dos Madres) and  The Road to perdition (Alien Buddha).